


Cats and Cuddles (Ultimate Cure)

by teacupfulofbrains



Series: The Sound of Your Sketchbook [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, allura runs a fashion company, i have writer's block on my major projects so this is a distraction, keith is a very good bf who cares a lot about lance, lance cries a lot in the beginning but it's all good i promise, lance designs clothes for her, lots of cats and lots of cuddles, partially!deaf keith kogane, so much fluff holy crap, there will most likely be future one-shots, this is nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacupfulofbrains/pseuds/teacupfulofbrains
Summary: Lance has a massive deadline coming up and a massive case of artist's block, and it's a little bit more than he can handle. Keith is concerned, but he knows exactly how to help Lance relax and get inspired (with a little help from some fluffy friends).(or: Lance is stressed, Keith is the best boyfriend, and the cats just want to snuggle)





	Cats and Cuddles (Ultimate Cure)

**Author's Note:**

> ok so basically, i have three major projects and i have writer's block on all of them, and my lovely friend @Cass_Logan suggested that i work on something completely separate to clear my head, so i gave lance artist's block and rolled with it. if only i had a keith to take care of me and cats to cuddle with . . .   
> please enjoy, and let me know if you did!

“This is going to be the fucking _death of me_ ,” Lance moans, throwing himself down onto the bed. Keith, curled in an armchair with a tablet full of cryptid documentaries and a mug of coffee, raises an eyebrow but makes no move to get up. “I’m serious, babe, I literally _cannot_ today or ever or now. Nope, no way, no how, Allura is going to _fucking fire me_.”

 

Lance complains about once a week that Allura is going to fire him, usually because he’s pulled some ridiculously stupid stunt like duct-taping the contents of his coworkers’ desks to the ceiling. Allura (God bless her patient British soul) has _not_ fired him from Altea, Inc. (a clothing company that debuted only a few years ago but has taken the fashion world by absolute storm), and Keith is not particularly worried about Lance’s employment status, so he returns to his cryptid documentary. He’s seen it before, multiple times, but that does absolutely nothing to detract from its splendor in his mind.

 

He picks his head up when Lance starts crying. Keith flings himself out of the chair and onto the bed, tearing his earbuds out in his haste and narrowly missing spilling his coffee. His hearing aids, which are connected to his earbuds, come flying out as well, and Lance’s sobs are immediately replaced by a dull sort of buzz. He pulls Lance into his arms, cradling him carefully, and Lance breaks into sobs. Lance’s mouth moves against his collarbone, clearly trying to tell him what happened, but without his aids Keith really can’t hear for shit. He taps Lance’s head in a swift Morse message: _S-O-S_ , their signal for Keith’s hearing going out. Lance sits up, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, and begins signing. His hands are shaking so badly that Keith can’t decipher his already-not-stellar sign language, but he’s unwilling to abandon his boyfriend just to find his hearing aids.

 

Keith shakes his head again, still clueless, and Lance slows down. He taps his ears and tilts his head to the side: _Your hearing aids?_ Keith points to the armchair, where they lay abandoned; Lance pulls himself out of Keith’s arms and shuffles through the mess of blankets and cords until he finds the earbuds. Pausing the documentary, he detaches Keith’s hearing aids (bright red and decorated with purple lettering that spells out _S-P-A-C-E R-A-N-G-E-R_ ) from his earbuds, bringing them back to the bed. Keith slides them in, fiddles with the sound for a moment, and opens his arms. Lance comes barreling back into his chest without a second thought, wracked by a fresh spurt of tears, and Keith almost regrets putting his hearing aids back in because Lance sounds absolutely fucking heartbroken.

 

“Babe,” he murmurs, pressing his nose into Lance’s soft brown hair. “Talk to me. Come on, tell me what happened.”

 

“I have a design portfolio due on Friday,” Lance chokes. Keith glances at the _Space Cats_ calendar on the wall; it’s Monday, and Friday’s date is circled in big blue marker. “And I was assigned this two weeks ago and – and – I’ve been so – so swamped that I haven’t – gotten a chance to – to work on it and – and – and I have no – no ideas it’s – it’s the worst – case – of artist’s block – I’ve ever had, and – and Allura – will think I – I’ve been p-procrastinating again b-because it’s all I ever d-do a-and she’s gonna f-fire me!”

 

His last few words dissolve into an almost-unintelligible wail as he buries his face into Keith’s shoulder again. Keith considers himself lucky that he isn’t particularly attached to this t-shirt, because Lance is absolutely soaking it in snot and tears right now, but ultimately, his boyfriend is more important than the fate of his clothing. He rubs Lance’s back soothingly, softly, letting him let it all out, while his mind whirls.

 

He stands up after a few more minutes, wraps a sniffling Lance in the patchwork quilt they made their first winter together, and disappears into the kitchen, promising to be right back. He rummages through their pantry and fridge while Scarlet curls around his ankles, purring. A quick glance into the living room reveals Sapphire asleep on the sofa, which is littered with blankets and throw pillows. He grins; this will be excellent.

 

When he come back for Lance, exactly seven minutes later, he’s still crying softly, curled in the quilt. Keith understands that while Lance loves his work, it’s stressful, and Allura is a wonderfully nice woman but running a company is demanding. She has high expectations, and Lance often feels that he’s not good enough to meet them. He’s paid well (which is fortunate, because Keith is currently unemployed and not many people are willing to hire a partially-deaf twenty-three-year-old), but he’s overworked sometimes.

 

Keith gently pulls Lance to his feet, letting the quilt pool on the bed, and pulls him into the living room. He’s built a massive pillow-and-blanket fort out of the couch and armchairs pushed together, and when he lifts the flap to allow them entrance, Sapphire springs off of the couch and all but leaps into Lance’s arms. Lance shimmies his way in, still looking shocked beyond belief, and Keith just smiles.

 

It’s warm in there, with Sapphire purring loudly on Lance’s lap and Scarlet content to sleep in Keith’s. A mug of steaming hot chocolate, topped with an entire can of Reddi-whip and the equivalent of one cinnamon challenge, sits on the coffee table, along with a bowl of sour-cream-and-onion Pringles and Keith’s laptop set up with season one of Project Runway all geared up.

 

“You . . . you hate Project Runway,” Lance sniffs, wiping at his eyes. Keith scoots over next to him and slides under Lance’s right arm, leaning his head against his chest. He passes the mug to Lance and pulls the chips closer, resting the bowl next to him.

 

“Yeah, but you love it. You always say it inspires you. So get inspired, babe. I can handle this shitty-ass show if it’s for you. I can handle anything for you.”

 

He feels Lance press his lips against his forehead as he clicks onto episode one. The theme music blares, the logo spins across the screen, and as Lance’s eyes light up, Keith smiles softly and turns his hearing aids down.

 

Keith remembers falling asleep cuddled close to Lance, Sapphire, and Scarlet somewhere around the season one finale, but only Scarlet is there when he wakes up on his back, purring softly on his chest. The laptop is closed, the dirty dishes are gone, the fort is partially collapsed on top of him, and when Keith finally manages to dig his way out (Scarlet hopping off of him and padding away into the bedroom), the digital clock reads _1:23 AM_ , and Lance is nowhere to be found.

 

Soft yellow light seeps out from the crack under the closed kitchen door, pooling like melted butter around Keith’s fuzzy Mothman socks as he opens it. Lance is slumped over the kitchen table, halfway to the floor, papers scattered all around him in a massive whirlwind of chaos. His colored sketching pencils are strewn haphazardly around the table, and the red and blue ones are tucked behind his ears. His leather sketchbook is open under his head, pillowed on his arms, and Keith carefully tugs it out. When he sees what the open page is, he nearly starts crying.

 

It’s a dress, with short sleeves that puff like balls, a more form-fitting top, a soft curve of a neckline, and a long flowing skirt. The front of the skirt comes down to mid-shin, and the back comes down to the Achilles’ tendon. The right sleeve and shoulder are bright red; the left sleeve and shoulder are bright blue, and the sleeves are rimmed with thin golden lace. The colors meet in the center of the chest, with the bodice split into blue and red, and where the colors meet there’s an almost tie-dye-effect purple. The skirt starts with palest lavender, and as it flows down it darkens into deep violet. There’s a band of golden material around the waist, tied in a simple bow in the back, and the lower, darker parts of the skirt are flecked with gold. It looks like a starry evening sky.

 

The dress is stunning. It’s gorgeous, it’s amazing, it’s so beautifully intricate and absolutely perfect. Keith sucks in a breath when he notices Lance’s handwriting in the corner.

 

_Because we’re always better together – we are a good team._

Keith knows exactly where that phrase came from – he’d said it. Lance had been stressing about a project for college, a Gen Ed course he and Keith had been paired up on. Keith had been dealing with the possibility of surgery and complications with his hearing aids, and Lance had tried to do the whole thing himself. He’d gotten next to no sleep, running on caffeine and adrenaline and sugar, and when Keith had found out, he’d confiscated his laptop. He’d yelled at Lance, telling him that he couldn’t do everything by himself. Lance had asked him why, in a dry deadpan, and Keith had snapped.

 

_Because it’s a group project! Because we’re a good team! Because we are always,_ always _better together, you colossal moron And what the fuck do you expect me to do if you're hospitalized, huh?! Ever think of that?!_

Now, staring at this dress in Lance’s sketchbook, knowing that he’ll be presenting this portfolio to Allura for possible production, for _other people to wear_ , Keith smiles, feeling his eyes water. It’s been a wild, wild ride since he first met Lance, who didn’t realize he was hearing-impaired. There have been ups and downs and in-betweens, and Keith’s never been happier. Even when they’re fighting, even when they aren’t speaking, Lance is still the best thing in his life. He absolutely adores him, and he is so, so, _so_ _stupidly_ in love.

 

“Babe?” Lance’s voice is low and thick with sleep as he stands, stretching, and Keith sets the closed sketchbook on the counter. Lance drapes himself over Keith’s back like the world’s heaviest blanket, arms wrapping around his shoulders, and Keith leans back into the comforting warmth. “S’late, why’re’ya‘wake?” His words slur together even as he presses slow, lazy kisses against Keith’s cheek and jaw.

 

“Lost my space heater,” Keith laughs, feeling Lance nuzzle into his neck and hum softly. Keith slowly makes his way to the bedroom, Lance clinging like a koala and shuffling slowly behind him. Scarlet and Sapphire are tangled together on the armchair, purring in sync as they sleep atop the patchwork quilt. Sapphire’s blue-grey fur meshes against Scarlet’s fiery orange-red as they curl on top of blue and red and purple fabric scraps, and Keith is reminded again of the dress he’d seen in Lance’s sketchbook. He laughs softly to himself; it seems everywhere he looks, he finds pieces of their relationship that Lance has pulled into his designs.

 

“What’s so funny?” Lance mumbles. Keith shakes his head, turning around and lowering Lance onto the messy bed, pushing dirty clothes off. He picks up his stone-cold coffee mug and takes it to the kitchen, knowing that if he doesn’t someone will trip over it in the morning, resulting in shattered porcelain and bloody feet. And Keith likes this mug (and okay, maybe his boyfriend) too much to let that happen (it’s black, and when hot beverages are poured in, it reveals white lettering that says “The Truth Is Out There” along with the X-Files Logo).

 

Lance is being particularly snuggly tonight, sliding under the mess of blankets while Keith’s gone and pulling Keith in with him the second he gets close enough. Lance wraps himself around Keith, letting his head rest on one arm and slinging the other across Keith’s waist, resting right on the curve of his hips as he nuzzles into the mullet of thick black hair he teases Keith about endlessly. Keith manages to pull out his hearing aids and set them onto the nightstand before he lets himself relax against Lance. Lance’s chest begins to buzz as he speaks (sings? Keith can’t tell), and he falls asleep almost instantly.

 

(Lance delivers his portfolio to Allura a day early, full of rich blues and deep reds and vibrant purples with that blue-red-purple-gold dress as the crowning jewel. Allura absolutely adores it, and when Keith sees the dress prominently displayed in the front windows of three different clothing stores six months later, he makes sure to snap plenty of pictures for Lance.)

 

 


End file.
